


mezurashii ikikata de mo ii yo

by Chash



Series: Looking For [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 16:17:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4269870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke was pretty sure if she told Lincoln about the whole Bellamy thing, he'd do something about it. Which is good, because she's way too stubborn to try again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	mezurashii ikikata de mo ii yo

**Author's Note:**

> As we all knew would happen. Title from Spitz again, it means "a strange way of life is all right too," which I'm kind of annoyed about, honestly, because I thought it was 行きかた, as in "way to go," but it's 生きかた, as in "way of life," which is less appropriate. But by the time I discovered this, I'd already gotten attached to the title. You are ruining my life, Japanese homonyms.

When Clarke leaves work, Bellamy is outside waiting for her, hands in his pockets, somehow looking both casual and like he will fight anyone who so much as thinks of asking what he's doing here. Honestly, she was expecting this--she was a little surprised he didn't come in before close, but Lincoln probably waited until after his date to mention it. She'd been pretty sure if she told Lincoln, he'd tell Bellamy, and, honestly, it was a lot more appealing than trying to raise the issue with Bellamy herself.

"You know we're closed, right?" she asks him. "I'm not opening up again just to make you a drink."

"I know." He falls into step with her easily, not making eye contact, but not needing to. They've always been _easy_ , even back when they first met, when they were sniping at each other all the time. The only reason she didn't like him in the first place was that she liked him instantly, the way she never does with people, a kind of trust at first sight which had never happened to her before, made her wary and irritable because he hadn't done anything to _earn_ her belief that if she ever needed him, he'd have her back, unconditionally.

And then he did prove it, over and over, in a thousand big and small ways, even as they continued to bicker and argue and stubbornly refuse to get along, and it was over for her. He was exactly what she wanted.

"Is Lincoln really home already?" she asks.

"Yeah, I knew he would be. Octavia told me she was doing an early night because he'd be stressing about me."

"Your sister is a very smart girl."

"I raised her right," he agrees. He clears his throat, a deliberate _we are having a serious conversation now_ move, and she cuts him of before he can say anything.

"Are you really following me home?"

"I assume you don't want to have this conversation in my apartment. Lincoln's there."

"I don't want to have this conversation at all," she grumbles. It's a complete and obvious lie, and Bellamy finally looks at her just so he can raise his eyebrows and show off how unimpressed he is. "Yeah, fine, you can come home with me."

"That's what I thought." He doesn't clear this throat this time, apparently realizing it's a dead giveaway, and instead just says, almost casually, "I was going to kiss you as soon as you came out of work, but I figured we should probably talk first."

Clarke snorts, even though her heartbeat has kicked into overtime. "I probably would have thought you were assaulting me," she points out. "You would have at least needed to identify yourself."

"But if I did, you wouldn't have attacked me?"

Even though she was sure he _knew_ , it still feels like a struggle to respond. Clearly he didn't know, and this is news to him, and he wants her back, so it shouldn't be scary, even a little. "I would rather have a little warning," she says. "But no, I wouldn't attack you."

"That was why I figured we should talk first."

She only lives a few blocks from the coffee shop, and they walk the last few minutes in silence, which doesn't exactly surprise her. She's known Bellamy for three years, ever since Lincoln answered his ad on Craigslist and moved into his spare bedroom, and they've spent most of that time pointedly not talking about about their feelings. Even if he thinks he's going to get laid, talking about feelings is still kind of a lot.

She unlocks the door to her apartment and lets him in; he's only been in here once before, and they also made out that time. She wonders if he's remembering it too.

He looks at her once they're inside, still in her work polo and sensible khakis, with her hair up in a severe ponytail, and it's still all heat and want, enough to make her stomach flip. "I changed my mind, I think I should kiss you first," he says, stepping in closer, not quite trapping her against the door, but pressing her back.

"Okay," she says, and wraps her hand around the back of his neck, tugs him down to her. 

The last time she kissed Bellamy Blake, she was drunk and upset and more than a little desperate, and it was still the best kiss of her fucking life. This time, she's sober, and he's fully participating, pushing her up against the door, stroking her jaw with his thumb, making tiny, pleased noises, and it blows the last time out of the water.

He's grinning when he pulls back, and Clarke was going to say something, but he looks so fucking _happy_ , she can't help just kissing him again.

They stumble away from the door, back toward her room. Clarke tugs his shirt off, tossing it somewhere toward the kitchen, and he laughs. "We're going to talk before you get laid," he tells her, once they make it to the bed. "I'm not letting you break my heart again, Griffin."

Clarke stops and stares, shocked. "When did I break your heart?"

He rubs the back of his neck. "The last time we did this."

" _I_ broke _your_ heart?" she asks, incredulous. "I was the one who--you fucking _left_ in the middle of the night, and then the next time I saw you, you were hitting on another girl!"

Bellamy flops down onto her bed, laughing, but not like it's really _funny_. "Please tell me that's not why you thought I wasn't interested."

"I practically threw myself at you, and you--"

He rubs his face and then sits up. His hair is a mess, and his smile is wry. Clarke fucking _adores_ him. "You were drunk, and _crying about your ex-girlfriend_. I wasn't going to ruin my chances with you taking advantage, even if you--"

Clarke sits down next to him. "I got that part," she says. "Or, I thought I did, but--" She rubs the back of her neck. "You were flirting with another girl and barely gave me the time of day after."

"I was not."

"You were! She was fucking hot, too. And you brought her _into the coffee shop_. While I was working, and hung over, and still--" She bites her lip, because she remembers so clearly how it felt, waking up with him gone, barely dragging herself to work, and him coming in, acting so _normal_ , with this gorgeous brunette who kept giggling and touching his arm. "And you're saying I broke your heart?"

Bellamy's gone pale and horrified. "That's--that was Echo. She works at the library. We were talking about--fuck, I don't remember. Work stuff. I didn't even think about it, I could barely pay attention to what we were talking about." He rubs the back of his neck. "That's why you were--when I tried to talk to you, you were all--"

"Oh," says Clarke, soft. He _had_ tried to talk to her that night, earnest and serious like Bellamy never is, and she'd been sure he was going to let her down easy, so she might have been--kind of an asshole. And he had been an asshole right back. They hadn't spoken for a week after, and then they'd just sort of--recovered. She'd been equal parts grateful and confused by the development. "Oh, fuck."

"We weren't going to meet at the coffee shop, but I wanted to check on you," he admits. "Make sure you were okay. It seemed like a good idea."

"I thought you wanted to remind me you didn't do relationships, and--I don't know. Get us back to normal. Fuck a random girl, forget about me."

He leans his forehead against her shoulder, laughing softly. "Fuck. Seriously? This is why we haven't been together for a fucking _year_?"

"Sorry." She smiles. "Throwing myself at you when I was drunk probably wasn't my best life choice."

"I probably shouldn't have left," he admits. "I was afraid it was going to be awkward. I thought you'd be mortified and regret everything."

"Well, it was awkward," she teases.

"Shut up." He's still leaning against her, so it's easy for him to shift closer, press his mouth under her jaw. "I love you. I'm so fucking in love with you. I thought--"

"Yeah," she says, because they've figured it out enough. She's got it. "I love you too."

*

Bellamy's still in her bed when she wakes up the next morning, arm wrapped around her, nose in her hair. When she tries to get up, he makes a noise and holds on, and she has to extricate herself to get to the bathroom. He's awake too when she gets back, lying on his back with a vaguely dazed expression.

"You gave me like fifteen hickeys," she says, crossing her arms. Her neck looks like a fucking disaster area.

"Yeah, but only like five of them are going to be visible if you're wearing clothes," he says. "So, if you think about it like that, I showed a lot of restraint."

She laughs and lies back down with him, curled in warm against his side. "You don't need to mark me. Everyone already knows I'm yours. Everyone's known for years."

He kisses her. "Yeah, well. I might have gotten a little carried away."

"Just a little."

They have sex again in the shower, and then Bellamy has to go into work for some special author event. He gives her a long, lingering kiss, tells her he loves her, and promises he'll stop by the coffee shop, _alone_ , after he's done. Clarke leans on the door for a few minutes, grinning like an idiot, and then gets ready for work herself.

Lincoln calls her out as soon as she walks in, which, yeah, he's right, it's what she gets for wearing a scarf. It seemed better than any of the alternatives, which were pretty much wearing a turtle neck under her polo, leaning into it and just showing them off, and calling in sick to put off the inevitable _I told you so_ conversation. Which would have just made the inevitable _I told you so_ conversation all the worse.

"Shut up, I'm mad at you." It's not really even a little true, but it's better than, _Thanks for telling him I still want him because I was too stubborn to do it myself_.

"Sorry," he says, totally insincere. "But he was so obviously interested."

"We, um. Apparently we both kind of misinterpreted a conversation last year," she tells him, because she is never, in a million years, breaking down the entire drunken making out/Bellamy's coworker/both of them being total brokenhearted assholes at each other situation to him or anyone else. She's taking that to her grave. "But we--resolved that."

"I assumed as much when he didn't come home last night."

"Again, shut up, I'm still mad at you."

Lincoln just grins.

Bellamy wanders in around three, kisses her, and then, when Lincoln wolf-whistles, pecks him on the cheek too, for good measure. Lincoln looks seriously alarmed, and Clarke tries not to snicker. But she doesn't really try that hard.

"I'm in a good mood," says Bellamy, grinning at Lincoln's poleaxed expression. "Don't get used to it."

"How did you ever misinterpret _that_?" asks Lincoln, once Bellamy's gone over to sit with his sister. They're grinning at each other, Octavia poking a mark that may or may not be a hickey on Bellamy's collarbone and Bellamy smirking at her, and it's probably the cutest thing Clarke has ever seen.

"I'm really bad at emotional conversations," she says, breezy. But she nudges Lincoln with her shoulder. "Thanks for, uh--I thought you'd probably tell him."

"Well, I don't want him to murder me for dating his sister. I expect you to use your new status to protect me."

"Deal," she says, and they shake on it.

*

A week later, she texts Bellamy, _A really hot girl just came in and me and Lincoln didn't even fight over who got to serve her, be proud of us._

_Congrats on your personal growth_ , he texts back. Then, a few minutes later, _How hot? I could work with that._

_Sorry, I'm too possessive. It would never work._

_I might be a failure to my gender for saying this, but that's awesome. Plans after work y/n?_

_N. I'm all yours._

He shows up at 8:55, makes sure there's no one around, and then comes behind the counter and presses her up against the espresso machine, kissing her long and wet and dirty. "All mine, huh?"

"Shut up," she says. "I'm at work. I have to clean up and close and shit. You aren't even supposed to be back here."

He helps her clean up, and then he follows her home, and kisses her before he leaves for work in the morning. It sucks, really, that she missed out on a year of this. Three years, even, because it didn't even make sense, to wait as long as she did to say something.

But it's okay. She's planning to have it for a lot more years.


End file.
